_AN INHERITANCE LOST_, _BUT A FRIEND FOUND_.
“Is not this a lovely April morning?” remarked Cadwgan to his sister, as
they walked hand-in-hand across the lawn.
“It is, indeed, a most lovely morning, brother. And is not the scene
around most enchanting?”
“You, Gwenfan, have always been a great admirer of the spring.”
“And you, dear Cadwgan, have been its enthusiastic admirer.”
“I have loved it, my dear sister, because it is the season of the year
when nature puts on its most joyous apparel. The trees and flowers, the
hedgerows and forests, the cornfields and meads, all all are decked in
their green robes. When spring comes, after the deathlike appearance of
winter with its cold and chilling air, nature springs into new life; the
trees send forth their green leaves, the rose its blossom, the meadows
put on their usual dress, and Nature appears to say to all, Come, come,
and behold my triumphant resurrection from the death of winter.”
“And does not the animal creation, my brother, participate in the glories
of spring?”
“Sister, oh, do listen to the joyous melody of the skylark, and see, see
how he mounts higher and higher, and sings as he ascends! From yon
thorny bush don’t you hear the blackbird’s sweet notes? while the mellow
bullfinch answers those notes from yonder sylvan grove.”
“It is love, my dearest brother, that creates this music; all this waste
of melody is the heavenly voice of sweetest love.”
“Don’t say, my dear sister, that this melody is wasted. Music is never
wasted when there are people listening to its soothing and joyous
strains.”
“But people, Cadwgan, do not always give ear to the charming voices of
these winged songsters. And are there not hundreds, and perhaps
thousands, who fail to appreciate, who are never moved by, their
enchanting notes?”
“That there are persons, my wise sister, who listen unmoved to the melody
of birds, I would be the last to deny; but is there not an equally large
number of persons who see no beauty in verdant glades, in the bubbling
crystal fountain, in the rippling streamlet, and in the flowers as they
open their petals to draw in the morning dewdrop?”
“As you have referred to flowers, come, dear Cadwgan, and look at my
smiling blushing roses. Oh, they look so lovely! Exquisitely beautiful
are they, and their perfume fills the morning air with the most delicious
fragrance.”
“They are, my dear Gwenfan, most beautiful; but pray tell me the secret
of your success in training them to so great a perfection.”
“That I can explain in a few words. I have nursed them well. I have
paid them as much attention as I have paid to my birds, and I love them
almost as much,—don’t I, pretty, smiling, blushing roses?”
“It will be hard for you to part with this lovely dwelling, won’t it,
Gwenfan; especially as it is endeared to us by so many happy and hallowed
associations?”
“But we shan’t leave here, brother; shall we?”
“I am afraid we shall be obliged to do so, sister.”
“I am so sorry to hear you say so.”
“I am sorry too, to break the news to you. The thought of leaving our
dear home almost breaks my heart.”
“I had hoped, Cadwgan, never to say adieu to the abode of our beloved
parents, though the void created by our sad bereavement can never be
filled up. But, if we must leave, whither shall we go?”
“At present, my darling sister, I know not where we shall have to pitch
our tent; but our heavenly Father, in His good providence, will, if we
trust Him, provide for us a shelter.”
“I do love and trust Him, my dear brother; but, oh, at this moment, the
future appears to me dark and beamless. I fail to see even a fringe of
the cloud with a silver lining.”
“But if we look to the light, our future may still be bright and joyous;
as will be the appearance of yonder vale when the dark cloud you see up
there passes away. In a few minutes this sylvan dell will be lighted up
by the golden beams of the morning sun.”
“Look, brother, look! The cloud is rapidly moving on its journey. The
rays of the king of day will soon fall upon and penetrate both woodland
and brake, warming and cheering the dwellers in mossy beds and grassy
mounds, imparting hope and joy to all.”
“So may it be with us, dear Gwenfan. When we least expect aid from on
high, that aid comes, and at once the darkness and gloom are chased
away.”
But here his sister called her brother’s attention to a lady driving a
pony carriage. “I declare,” she said, “the lady is coming to the villa.
See! see! her servant has opened the entrance gate at the bottom of the
lawn. Oh, who can she be? Do you expect any one to visit us, brother?”
“I expect no one, but hope that she may be a messenger of good, not of
evil; a harbinger of comfort, and not the bearer of bad tidings and thus
increase our affliction and sorrow. Our cup of grief is already full and
overflowing.”
As the carriage approached nearer to the villa, the children saw that its
occupant was clad in deep mourning, and that she resembled some one whom
they well knew, but whom they could not at the moment recollect.
Presently, the carriage was driven up to the door, and the lady inquired
of the orphans if the house was called Bryn Villa, and if they were the
children of Mr. and Mrs. Wynn.
“I am, madam, their son,” replied Cadwgan, “and this is my sister
Gwenfan.”
“May I presume to ask the name of the lady who takes care of you?”
“We have no one taking care of us, madam,” replied Gwenfan. “I look
after my brother, and he looks after me.”
“But have you no one with you,—no grown up person in charge of the house,
and in charge of its management?”
“We have only a maid-servant in the house, ma’am,” answered the brother;
“and she has been with us since we were little ones.”
“You are then, my dears, left alone in the world. Unless I have been
misinformed, you have lost both parents.”
“Both are dead, ma’am,” answered Gwenfan, weeping; “and neither my
brother nor I am aware of having a single relative living.”
“Had not your papa a sister?” inquired the lady.
“We never heard dear papa speak of a sister, or any relative,” answered
Cadwgan.
“Dear me, sir, that is certainly very strange; because I happen to know
of his having a sister, whom he loved very dearly.”
“Of her, ma’am,” replied the youth, “papa never spoke. I remember
hearing him say, he had no one left in the world to care for, except dear
mamma and us.”
“For the present we will say no more on the subject. But having driven
many a long mile, my dears, since the morning, and still having a long
journey before me, I must claim your hospitality for food for my servant
and pony.”
“You are heartily welcome, ma’am, to partake of the best our house can
afford,” replied the children. “Your servant will perhaps drive the pony
into the yard, and he will find there our man servant who will attend to
his wants.”
The lady then descended from her phaeton, and was conducted by the
children into the house. During the time refreshments were being
prepared she made a minute inspection of the parlour. When she had
thoroughly surveyed it, and was about to take a rest on the sofa, she saw
what appeared to be a picture, but the likeness was shut from view by a
curtain of green baize which hung over and covered both the picture and
frame. The lady’s curiosity was aroused, but just then she heard the
footsteps of the servant and the children in the passage; but before they
entered the room, she had succeeded in drawing aside the baize, and had a
glimpse of the likeness beneath. When the children entered they
perceived that the lady appeared slightly agitated, though, necessarily,
they were wholly ignorant of its cause.
During the time she was engaged in partaking of the refreshments which
had been provided her, she talked and chatted away on all manner of
topics, but studiously avoided making any allusion to herself. She asked
the children many questions about people in the neighbourhood,
particularly about Mrs. Jones, of the Glen; her sons and daughters, if
they were all married, and did they reside in the locality. She
specially asked if young Squire Jones were still a bachelor.
The children gave their visitor an account of the several families she
inquired for, and informed her that Mr. Jones was still single, that he
resided at the Glen, and had succeeded to his uncle’s property, which
brought in some £12,000 a year.
* * * * *
“And you never heard, my dears, your papa mentioning relatives either
living or dead.”
“Indeed, we don’t recollect our papa making any allusion to relatives,
except,” said Cadwgan, “on one occasion, when he said to mamma, ‘I am
afraid she is dead; for were she alive she would certainly write to us.’”
“I know, my dears, to whom he referred, and think I can satisfy you that
she is not dead, but still lives.”
“Any information, ma’am,” replied the youth, “with which you can furnish
us will place us under deep obligations to you.”
“Have you, my dears, ever seen the picture under the green baize?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then you don’t know whose likeness it is?”
“Indeed, ma’am,” replied the brother and sister, “we don’t.”
“Tell me, my dears,”—removing the covering,—“tell me if you have ever
seen any one like that portrait.”
For a moment the children hesitated; and after looking first at the
portrait and then at the lady, said, “The picture, ma’am, is very like
you; or you resemble the portrait.”
“You are quite right, my loves. Your dear papa was my brother, and you,
my dears, are my nephew and niece. Come to my arms, and be assured that,
as far as I can, I will make up for the loss you have sustained. I will
love you deeply, fondly, ardently; and for my brother’s sake, and that of
your kind, gentle, and loving mother, who was as dear to me as my dear
sister Gwenfan, who was the light and joy of our homes, and for your own
sakes, I will be your guide, your friend, your counsellor and stay.”
In a moment the children were locked in the tender and loving embrace of
their aunt. They all wept, though their sorrows were mixed with joy. To
some extent the discovery thus made relieved the sadness and gloom of the
hour. In the hour of gloom, when aid was least expected, a comforter had
been found. But upon this scene we must not dwell. Their aunt was a
woman of action, and rest with her was impossible until she had
thoroughly mastered the children’s affairs. Hence, as soon as she and
her pony had had refreshment and an hour’s rest, she, with her niece and
nephew, started off for Carnarvon to see the family solicitor, and from
that gentleman learnt that the old family estate of the Wynns was
mortgaged to its full value, and that the mortgagee had now given notice
to foreclose unless the sum borrowed was repaid within a month. “To do
this,” said the solicitor, “is, I fear, impossible, because the amount
borrowed—£80,000—is so large that in these times there are but few
capitalists who have it at their command.” He then gave it as his
deliberate opinion that the best thing was for the mortgagee to sell, and
if he realized a sum beyond the encumbrance, it might be invested for the
joint use of the children.
This advice was acted upon by the aunt and orphans. A few weeks after
this conversation, Wynn Castle and its domain and estate were sold by
auction, the fortunate purchaser being a London merchant of great wealth,
who during the first three years of its possession expended on
improvements £20,000.
When the affairs of Wynn Castle were all arranged, Cadwgan resolved to
seek his fortune in the wide wide world. His aunt and sister did their
best to dissuade him from leaving home, but he turned a deaf ear to their
arguments and entreaties. At last they reluctantly acquiesced, and it
was finally arranged that his aunt and sister were to remain at the Villa
(this house and grounds forming no part of the Wynn Castle estate), the
former promising to supply as far as she was able the void which death
had created.